They continued, following the narrow path through the trees that grew beside the creek as the darkness seemed to deepen by the minute, with no sign of a cabin until Whit exclaimed. “I see a light through those trees in that patch up ahead. I thought for a minute we’d done passed that little path that leads to it. Maybe we’d best be careful till we get a little closer,” Whit cautioned when his horse whinnied, sensing other horses near.
“What for?” Coy scoffed. “Hell, we can’t see four feet in front of us. They sure ain’t gonna be able to see us in these trees.” He was right in assuming that, because neither of them could see the lone man on the bay horse, watching them pass by no more than fifteen yards away. They were still unaware of his presence when Perley guided Buck out on the tiny trail behind them, after he was sure there were only two of them. The big one, called Coy, was following his partner.
Had it been his intention to murder them, it could not have been easier as they plodded along, still unsuspecting in the dark. But he was committed to capturing them if he could. Shooting someone in the back was against his nature at any rate. As they approached a small open spot in the trees, Perley looked up to notice a large oak with a stout limb extending over the trail. It gave him an idea. He took the coil of rope he had gotten from his packs and shook it out to fashion a loop. Born and raised on a cattle ranch, it was a good time to make use of his roping skills. Moving Buck up a little closer to the big man on the gray, Perley started whirling his lasso round and round over his head. When he released it, the loop dropped over Coy’s shoulders and was drawn up tight, pinning his arms to his sides. It happened so fast and so suddenly that Coy didn’t know what was happening. By the time he did, he was helpless to do anything about it, finding himself in midair when his horse went out from under him.
Well trained in working cattle, Buck knew his job. He planted his feet and braced to keep the rope taut. Perley backed him up, dragging a bellowing Coy, his feet flailing, back along the path for several yards until he reached the big oak. Just as he would a roped steer, Perley jumped from the saddle and ran to secure the big man. “Buck!” he commanded, and the bay stepped forward to allow some slack in the rope. Perley made quick use of it to further secure Coy, who was still in too much shock to fully realize what was happening to him. While he was still in that state, Perley untied the other end of his rope from his saddle horn and threw it over the oak limb. Moving quickly, he retied the rope on the saddle horn and backed the horse, pulling Coy up off the ground. At last aware, the infuriated bully began to shout and struggle as his feet dangled several feet above the ground.
Up ahead in the darkness of the trail, Whit was startled at first by the sudden bellowing behind him, thinking Coy was under attack. His first impulse was to kick his horse hard to escape whatever had ambushed them. Even in a state of panic, he knew it was too dangerous to attempt to gallop, so he pulled his horse back after a short dash and turned him off the path and down the creek bank. Out of the saddle then, he got down under the bank and waited to defend himself. Perley could not know what action Whit was taking, only that he had not come back to see what had happened to Coy. He took advantage of the time to untie the rope from his saddle horn again and loop it around a small tree trunk, satisfied that Coy’s weight was enough to keep the rope too tight around him to permit him to wiggle free.
At this point, Perley decided his best bet was to simply take cover and wait to see what Whit was going to do. It figured that he would eventually come back to look for his partner, since Coy was yelling for him to come back to help him between fits of cursing. So he led Buck down by the side of the creek where he would be out of the way, if any shooting started. Then he went back and sat down beside a tree where he could see his catch hanging from the limb, but Coy could not see him. He thought it best to keep him in the dark for the time being.
After another ten minutes or so, Coy gave his vocal cords a rest and swung quietly for a while, thinking he had somehow sprung a trap someone had rigged. Maybe, he thought, Whit would soon realize he wasn’t behind him anymore and come back to help him. Farther up the creek, Whit crouched and listened. Then he heard the sound of horse’s hooves on the path above him. He could see the vague shape of a horse, half hidden by the brush between them. Very cautiously, he called out. “Coy? What the hell happened back there?” When there was no reply, he cocked his pistol and changed his position, trying to get a better look through the bushes. Then he realized it was Coy’s horse, but Coy was not in the saddle. He made his way back up from the creek to the path and peered back the way he had come. He couldn’t see more than a few yards. The thought crossed his mind that the oaf of a man had fallen off his horse. “The big dumb cow,” he muttered. Since there had been no gunfire, nor sounds of anything like an attack of any kind, he decided it must have been something Coy did to cause him to fall off his horse. Shaking his head, he climbed back on his horse, grabbed the gray’s reins, and started back down the path, half expecting to meet Coy on foot. Short of that, he thought he might find him with a broken leg or arm and that was what all the yelling was about.
He started back the way he had come, pausing a few seconds when he came to another path that forked off from the one he was on. Looking down that path, he could see the light again and it occurred to him that it was the path to Rooster’s cabin. In his haste before, he had been too intent upon escaping to notice it when he went past. Concerned then that Rooster and his fast-gun friend might have heard Coy yelling, he hurried his horse along, only to yank back on the reins a few yards farther. What the hell? he thought when he saw a dark form floating in the air before him. He remained there, uncertain whether he should approach it or not. After another few moments, the form spoke. “Well, are you gonna get me down from here or not?”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Whit muttered. “What the hell are you doin’ up there?”
“What does it look like I’m doin’, you damn fool? Cut me down from here.”
Whit stepped down from his horse, since there seemed to be no one else around, he walked up to his dangling partner and stood looking at him as if truly amazed. “How did you get hung up there?”
“I don’t know,” Coy snapped, his patience for his partner’s lack of urgency wearing thin. “Musta run into a snare or somethin’. I don’t know why you didn’t get caught in it. Quit jawin’ and cut me down!”
“Lemme see what it’s tied to,” Whit said and started to walk around him, but froze when he heard the clicking of a cocking hammer and felt the barrel of the pistol against the back of his neck, at the same time feeling his Colt .44 being lifted out of his holster.
“Now, I want you to sit down, Injun style, with your legs crossed under you,” Perley said. “And please don’t make any sudden moves. This Colt of mine has a hair trigger, and sometimes it goes off just lookin’ at it hard.” Whit crossed his feet and sat down. “Now, put your hands behind your back.”
Aware now who his captor was, Whit protested. “You ain’t got no call to ambush folks ridin’ on this trail. We was just mindin’ our own business, wasn’t botherin’ nobody.”
“Is that a fact? Where were you goin’?” When Whit gave no answer, pausing to think of one, Perley repeated, “Cross your hands behind your back.” Whit reluctantly thrust his hands behind his back. Perley quickly slipped a loop of rope over his wrists and drew it up tight, then bound them securely. Then he pulled Whit over on his side, and with the other end of the short piece of rope, bound his ankles. Once he had his prisoners secure, he tied their horses in the trees, then he stepped back to consider his situation. He had caught them, now what was he going to do with them, one tied hand and foot, the other hanging in a tree? I need a little help, he told himself. “You fellows just make yourselves comfortable and I’ll be right back.”
He went back to the creek to get his horse, then he rode back up the trail until he reached the path to Rooster’s cabin. As a precaution against getting shot by someone in the cabin, he stopped
a short way down the path and yelled. “Hey, Possum! It’s me, Perley! I’m comin’ in.” When he heard Possum tell him to come on, he rode up to the cabin to meet Possum and Tom and Rooster coming out to meet him. “I’m gonna need some help,” Perley said. “I’ve got a couple of polecats waitin’ back there lookin’ for a ride to town.”
Not at all sure Perley was making sense, Possum asked. “What the hell are you talkin’ about? Did you see those jaspers?”
“That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell you,” Perley answered. “I caught ’em, but I’m gonna need help takin’ ’em to jail. I think it’s best to hitch up one of the wagons and haul ’em into town, instead of lettin’ ’em ride their horses. That way, one of you can drive the wagon, and the other one can guard the prisoners. And I’ll ride behind and keep an eye on ’em and lead their horses.”
Once they understood what he intended, Tom said, “I’ll take my wagon. On that rough trail, we don’t wanna take a chance on that crazy wheel fallin’ offa Emma’s wagon.” He hurried to hitch up his horses. While they waited for him, Possum tried to get more details about what Perley had done. He was still finding it hard to believe even while he and Tom followed Perley back in the wagon. Not wanting to miss the excitement, Rooster jumped on the back of the wagon as well.
They found Perley’s prisoners none the worse for wear, but not too happy with their predicament. Both men had done their best to escape their bonds, but to no avail. Coy had flailed his legs until he was nearly exhausted but had only succeeded to work the ropes up an inch or two. Whit was about ten feet from where Perley had left him, having rolled over and over until he was stopped at the base of the oak that Coy was swinging from. “I told you I wouldn’t make you wait too long,” Perley greeted them. “I brought help and a wagon to take you to jail.”
“Well, I’ll be . . .” Rooster started when he saw the two outlaws, in spite of Perley’s account of the confrontation when he came back to the cabin. His reaction brought an angry snarl from Coy. “I wonder where the other one is,” Rooster said, “the one you shot.”
“You better worry about him,” Coy warned. “When he finds out about this, you’re as good as dead.”
Perley checked the rope pinning Coy’s arms to his sides and commented. “I can see where you managed to sink a little bit. I bet if I left you here all night, you might get that loop up to your elbows and you could get your hands free.” Coy responded with a feeble kick with one foot, whereupon Perley quickly slipped a small loop over the foot, pulled it tight, then wrapped the rope around the other foot, tying his ankles together. The swift move caused the helpless brute to roar his anger in a release of fiery profanity. “Back that wagon under him,” Perley said to Tom. When he did, Perley climbed up into the wagon, and using the same technique he had used on Coy’s feet, tied his hands behind his back. “All right, Rooster, you can untie that rope around the tree.” When Rooster untied it, Coy was left standing in the wagon bed with his feet tied together. Perley gave his shoulder a shove and Coy fell heavily, much like a huge tree that had been sawed down. The major difference was the lack of such extreme profanity when a tree is felled.
With Coy loaded and ready for transport, Perley’s attention was turned to Whit, lying next to the base of the tree. Perley paused to stand over him for a moment to consider the distance the bound man had moved while he had left him. “I’m kinda curious,” he asked him. “Did you think you could climb that tree with your hands and feet tied like that?”
“You go to hell” was all Whit had to offer, so Perley nodded to Tom, and the two of them picked up Whit and threw him in the wagon with his partner.
Ready to roll, Tom climbed up on the wagon seat and took the reins. Possum sat beside him holding a shotgun and Rooster sat on the tailgate. With Perley on Buck behind them, leading the two horses, they started back down the narrow trail, heading for town.
CHAPTER 13
Sheriff Ben Pylant, having finished his late supper, walked out of his office to stand in the front doorway. He looked across the open space between his office and The Buffalo Hump to see if there was anything going on at the saloon. He was relieved to see that three horses he had come to recognize were not at the hitching rail. He was very much aware of the lack of respect some of the citizens of Bison Gap held for him, especially Henry Lawrence, who owned the saloon. In light of that, he thought it a good time to make another appearance at the saloon to make a show of following up on the incidents that had happened earlier. “Good idea,” he decided aloud. “I’ll go have myself a drink.” He pulled the door shut and walked over to The Buffalo Hump, taking a closer look at the two horses at the hitching rail as he passed by. Satisfied that neither of them was the big gray Coy Dawkins rode, he walked on in the door.
Jimmy McGee looked toward the door when he heard someone come in. “Well, good evenin’, Sheriff,” he announced grandly. “If you’re lookin’ for those three drifters who have run off damn near all my business, you’re too late. They’ve done gone.”
“I just wanted to make sure everything was peaceful,” Pylant replied, as he took a good look at the two men sitting at a table with a bottle. They both looked up when they heard Jimmy announce the sheriff’s entrance and, seeing it was Pylant, returned to their conversation. “As long as there’s no more problems, I might as well have a drink.” Jimmy poured him a shot of whiskey, and Pylant spent some time telling him that it was luck on the part of the three troublemakers that they had left town. “I was gettin’ ready to crack down on them.”
“Is that right?” Jimmy replied, making an effort not to be sarcastic. “They just went someplace else. I don’t think they left town for good, so I expect we’ll see ’em in here again. You can crack down on ’em then.” He was enjoying the sudden pale look on Pylant’s face when Dick Hoover, the postmaster, came in the door, looking for the sheriff.
“Ben,” Hoover exclaimed, “somebody pulled up a wagon at the jail and they’re lookin’ for you. That fellow who shot one of those three drifters is with ’em.”
Pylant looked like he had just swallowed something rancid, but he nevertheless responded. The two men sitting at the table followed him out the door. Curious as well, Jimmy went to the door to watch, unable to leave the saloon unattended.
“Howdy, Ben,” Rooster called out cheerfully. “We brought you some visitors for your little hotel, here.” He hopped down from the tailgate and walked around to meet the sheriff. “I reckon you remember Perley Gates, and these two fellers is Possum Smith and Tom Parker. They’re fixin’ to set their roots in Bison Gap and they helped me protect my cabin from them two pig-killers in the wagon.”
“He’s crazy!” Whit shouted. “Me and Coy was ridin’ along the river, lookin’ for a place to camp, and that damned hired gun Rooster brought in here ambushed us.”
“That’s right,” Coy charged. “We was ridin’ along peaceful as you please and he jumped us in the dark. He’s already shot Shorty Thompson.”
Pylant was caught between a rock and a harder rock. He didn’t want anything to do with the two troublemakers in the back of the wagon. To make matters worse, they were joined then by Henry Lawrence, the owner, and Mayor Ralph Wheeler. A few minutes later, Dick Hoover, the postmaster, arrived on the scene. It was soon apparent that the principal citizens of the town were fed up with the inability of their law-enforcement officer to protect their community from lawless men like Dawkins and his friends.
“I’m sure I speak for everyone in town when I say I’m glad to see you’ve finally arrested those two hoodlums,” the mayor said when he saw the two trussed-up outlaws in the wagon. “After all that has happened in Bison Gap today, topped off by the malicious murder of poor Fred Brooks, we had concluded that we needed a stronger man in the office of the sheriff. But I’m happy to see you’ve made a move to stop this lawlessness.”
Rooster started to correct Wheeler’s false impression, but Perley quickly stopped him. “Let the sheriff arrest them,” he whispered. “It’s
better that way.” Possum nodded his agreement.
Pylant looked first at Perley, then back at the mayor, not sure if he was about to blunder into the exposure of his lack of action in the whole affair. He went ahead with it, anyway. “Well, there was some uncertainty on my part about the arrest, since we don’t have a judge to try criminals. But I reckon we could hold ’em until the Texas Rangers can send somebody to transport ’em to trial.”
“That sounds like a good plan to me,” Henry Lawrence remarked. “We have to do something about men like these. I got so I was afraid to go into my own saloon.”
“Or just hang ’em and save the time,” Rooster suggested, standing by the side of the wagon.
“We’re hoping to build this town into a law-abiding respectable town, Rooster,” Wheeler informed him. “I’m hoping we don’t turn the town into one run by vigilantes.”
Lying close to the side Rooster was standing by, Coy muttered loud enough for him to hear. “If I get loose from here, I’m gonna remember you said that.” Rooster took a step away from the wagon.
Finally, someone thought to wonder about another issue. “What about the other fellow, the one who got shot?” Dick Hoover asked. “Where is he?”
“Yeah, where is he?” Horace Brooks demanded as he joined the impromptu meeting in front of the jail. “He’s the son of a bitch who shot my boy.” He walked straight up to the wagon and slapped Coy on the back of his head. “Where is he?”
“Kiss my ass,” Coy responded and Horace hit him again before Wheeler stepped in.
“I know how you feel, Horace, but that ain’t gonna do any good for you or the town,” Wheeler said. He turned back to the sheriff. “What we need to do now is put these two in jail, then we can worry about the other one.”
“He’s gone back to their camp, wherever that is,” Floyd Jenkins said as he walked up, after seeing the gathering in front of the jail.
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